When I was little

I fancied the moon was home to my mother

Peeking out from under my covers

I would search for her face

I imagined her sitting

Next to the man in the moon

-Perhaps he was my father

 

Night after night

As my heart took flight

My eyes would shine bright

To imagine them hugging each other

 

Sadness would smother me

When the cloudy nights

Would cover the face of my mother

These were the nights

When I mostly cried

 

Harvest moon was always the best

That was the time when they were

the closest

A lump in my throat

Pounding chest

This was the night

They’d appear by my side

 

They would swoop me up

And off we’d fly

High, high, high

Over the trees

And the biscuit tin houses

Views of prowling cats

And scurrying mouses

 

Oh, how we would laugh

As we flew through the sky

I didn’t look back

Or say goodbye

I didn’t even want to try

 

We were off to the moon

And there was plenty of room

For three

Mother, Father and me!

 

C.K. 22